dancing in imladris
by in wide-eyed wonder
Summary: Aragorn and Arwen in Imladris after Frodo is brought in. Singing, dancing, and being cute and fluffy.


Arwen sat on the edge of her bed, running her pale fingers through her dark tresses. She stood, smiling brightly, a laugh dancing in her throat. The sun toyed at the horizon, lingering for a time, though soon it would yield to the night. She left the room, making her way quickly to the quarters where the recovering hobbit, Frodo, lay.  
  
She frowned as memories of the small lad, looking so scared and cold, slipping into despair, ran through her thoughts.  
  
Arwen gazed at the window, listening absentmindedly to the conversation behind her. Messengers had arrived from the West, bearing tidings of a small hobbit named Frodo who journeyed to Rivendell bearing a precious object. She tacked her fingers rhythmically on the sill, leaning her forehead against the cool glass.  
  
Her hair brushed the bench she sat upon, dark as twilight, falling freely over her shoulders. She turned her head, suddenly aware that a name she recognized quite well had come into the discussion; Aragorn. Her eyes suddenly filled with a keen light. Aragorn was coming.  
  
She stood silently and slipped from the room, musing as she paced quickly down the hall and swept into her chamber, yanking a riding outfit from her wardrobe and dresser. She yanked her long tresses into several simple braids and pulled them altogether with an elegant silver clasp. She dressed hurridly, lacing her boots and standing.  
  
Rummaging around, she emerged with a well worn leather bag, and stuffed several useful objects in it, grabbing her sword from where it hung upon the wall and shoving it into the sheath that hung around her waist before heading down through the halls to the kitchen, trying not to be seen.  
  
She filled her bag with food and drink, then headed for the stables. Asfolath neighed loudly as she entered, shaking his proud silver head. She quickly led him out of his stall, saddling him and stuffing her sack into one of the packs attatched. Arwen smiled, placing one foot firmly in the stirrup and swinging up, settling herself before turning and gazing over and up to the window where she could barely glimpse her father, still talking. She blew him a kiss and prayed he would not be too upset before turning Asfolath and bolting down the path.  
  
The minutes, hours streamed by as she rode, searching for any sign of the hobbits, and of Aragorn. As the sun began to drop behind the horizon on this, the second day, she spied to west the thin, curling wisps of smoke to the east, away off in the forest. She turned her horse and darted into the woods, riding cautiously toward the camp.  
  
Dusk had faded, replaced by night when Arwen drew near to the camp. She dismounted, instructing Asfolath not to move, then crept through the trees, silent. A noise came from her left and she crouched behind a bush, hand resting on the hilt of her sword.  
  
Shw waited, her sensitive ears picking up every sound and as a figure emerged, clad in well worn clothing and bearing a torch, her keen eyes instantly recognized him. She thought about emerging and showing herself, but then decided against it in favor of a more interesting apporach.  
  
Arwen carefully unsheathed her sword, not making a sound and waited until he neared her hiding place. He was intent upon something, eyes gleaming as he found what he searched for, fingering the delicate plant and whipping out a thin dagger. He did not notice her until she had pressed her blade to his throat. She restrained a laugh at the expression on his face.  
  
"What's this?" she asked with a grin, "A ranger, caught off his guard?"  
  
Aragorn turned his head toward the familiar voice, the edge sliding along his unshaven jaw, frowning at the amused look on her face.  
  
"What is wrong?" she asked, withdrawing her sword and sheating it in a single fluid movement, "What has happened?"  
  
"The nazgul," he said, "they attacked. Frodo was injured." He pointed to the east and slightly north, "I left them there. One of the hobbits, Sam, may still be out looking for Athelas." He held up the plant in his hand. Arwen whistled, a sweet, piercing sound that ranf through the forest and soon Asfolath came trotting up. Arwen grabbed a fistful of mane and lept onto his back, riding off in the direction Aragorn had pointed.  
  
She rode into the clearing, dismounting using the horse's momentum and rushing over to where the ill hobbit lay, gasping and shivering. She could see the death and despair in his eyes as she knelt beside him.  
  
"Frodo. Im Arwen, telin le thaed. Lasto beth nin, tolo dan na ngalad."  
  
Come back to the light, little one.  
  
She cleared her mind and could not help the smile that broke across her face.  
  
He was here.  
  
Aragorn leaned against the door frame, clad in soft green. It looked like he had washed his hair, too. His face was worried, calm, and yet worried. His quick eyes watched the small figure, and the other hobbit which slumbered in the chair next to him, a smile darting across his features. Sam's disheveled, dingy blond locks fell into his face, still filled with dirt and twigs from their journey, for he had refused to leave his master's side since their arrival, save by necessity.  
  
"Frodo sleeps," Aragorn sighed, turning to face her, joy playing across his face, "I have missed you."  
  
Arwen grinned and broke into a run, flinging herself into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, a single tear falling down her cheek.  
  
"I have missed you." she whispered. "The years never seemed so long."  
  
He laughing, picking her up and spinning her around. She giggled, tracing the pattern on his tunic as he set her down before grabbing his hand.  
  
"Come, hir nin, we would not want to wake the periannath." She skipped off down the hall and Aragorn hurried after her. He arrived at the gardens and peered around, frowning as he did not see her.  
  
Suddenly his vision was blocked by two hands and the sound of a very familiar laugh filled the air.  
  
"Guess who, hir nin!" A sweet voice whispered in his ear.  
  
"Glorfindel?" he asked, "is that you? You are too old for such games."  
  
"You have guessed wrong." Aragorn smiled and reached out, tickling the figure behind him. His action elicited a bright giggle. "And now you must grant me my request."  
  
"Oh really?" he asked, a wry smirk crossing his face, eyes still covered, "Says who?"  
  
"Says me, of course."  
  
Aragorn turned in her arms, laying his hand against her face, "Then I must be sure to comply, indeed."  
  
Arwen looked him in the eye, her arms sneaking around his waist, eyes fluttering shut. "Kiss me." she whispered.  
  
Aragorn smiled, "Beyest lin." He gently pressed his lips to hers. He drew away, running his thumb over her cheek. "You are beautiful."  
  
"Hmmm." she murmured. "So are you."  
  
"Really?" he asked. "How flattering."  
  
"I'm sure," She opened her eyes and he nearly lost himself in the laughter he found there. "Come, my lord, forget the troubles that follow you." Arwen pulled from Aragorn's embrace, swirling around. "Sing for me? She asked sweetly.  
  
Aragorn sat down on a bench, the deep shadows of dusk playing across his face. "What do you want me to sing?"  
  
Arwen swayed from side to side, hands clasped behind her back. "Anything, if it from your lips." She leaned over and kissed him, then stood waiting.  
  
"Very well, then." He thought a moment, then began:  
  
Uich gwennen na' wanath ah na dhín  
  
You are not bound by loss and silence  
  
Arwen began to twirl and sway with the rhythm, keeping perfect time. Her voice joined his in the sorrowful words.  
  
An uich gwennen na ringyrn ambar hen  
  
For you are not bound to the circles of this world  
  
Arwen swept around, capturing the emotions of the words with every movement.  
  
Boe naid bain gwannathar  
  
All things must pass away  
  
Images danced through his mind, enchanted by her dancing.  
  
Boe cuil ban firith  
  
All life is doomed to fade  
  
She flitted through the shadows, fair as the twilight in Elven home  
  
Boe naer gwannathach, a si le law ú-estel  
  
Sorrowing you must go, but not without hope  
  
She ceased her actions as the song drew to a graceful finish, halting before him. She mused for a moment, the last strain of the melody still flickering through her mind. She sat down on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.  
  
"Melin le."


End file.
